Confidences
by Platinum Express
Summary: He leaned forward, and planted a soft kiss on her neck. "Don't hurt me." he whispered. Rated M For a Reason.


**Confidences**

As Hermione fell onto the cold, gritty tarmac, her arms tightened instinctively around Adam's soft, trembling body, and she tucked his chin over her shoulder. She seemed to be falling very slowly, she mused. Surely it had been ages back that she had seen the flash of bright green light, splaying coldly over her skin. The next minute, she had lost her balance and was falling over. She had wanted to scream, to warn Draco that she had been hit, but her throat had collapsed on itself, and her lips remained firmlyset together. She turned over on her side,seeing the tarmac inching closer, so that Adam would remain unaffected, so that she could keep him safely tucked under her arms.

Pain.

It wasn't blinding, but hot and dull. It started as a pin-prick in the shoulder that slammed against the ground, and then spread like a wave across her torso. She felt the gritty tarmac cut into her skin, and the solidness of it thud against her jaw. One of her teeth loosened, and this time, she was able to open her mouth and scream. For a moment, the world spun black, and then everything revolved into view again.

She could see the loading dock.

The tarmac beneath her was unoptimistically gray, rough, and scattered with empty tins of deisel. A few of them had caught fire, and the rough noise, like a knife slicing through the air was thick in her ears. She heard a muffled thump as another body fell beside her, and wondered vaguely if it was one of Draco's men, or one of _theirs- _or, whether, in fact, there was any real difference between the two.

Wasn't this Draco's fault, after all?

Adam was still in her arms, and she cuddled him closer, realizing that the impact had probably caused him to pass out. Through her thick daze, she thought of how close the spell had come, how close _she _had come to dying. She remembered the iciness of the green light.

But it had missed her.

She raised her eyes upward, and saw that there were very few figures left standing. The ground was littered with bodies. Someone called out, 'Avada Kedavra!'

There was a flash, a muffled scream, a gun, whipped out from a pocket, and a bang that most wizards didn't understand.

And then there was only one person left standing.

Relief washed over her, as she saw that that it was Draco. His pale, usually immaculate blonde hair was ruffled and singed, and his travelling robes ripped and covered in dust. A bloody gash soared up one arm. He appeared to be limping a little.

He turned his eyes frantically scanning the ground, until his gaze fell on her and they widened.

'Hermione!'

With two quick strides he was beside her, and dropped to his knees. His hand reached out, gripped her palm, and he sunk his fingers in her flesh. His eyes were bewildered, scared, and upset. Normally, thought Hermione, it would break her heart. But today, with Adam snuggled safely- but only just- in her arms, it made her angry.

'Are you alright?' asked Draco.

'There was a killing curse.'

'It must have missed you, darling.'

'I _felt_ it,' she said, bitterly. 'It was _cold_.'

With a sigh, Draco slid his hand up her arm and tightened it around her elbow.

'You're safe now,' he said, quietly. 'That's what matters. What happened to Adam?'

The anger dissipated. Somehow, Hermione thought it was too much of an effort.

'He got knocked out,' she said, wearily. 'Perhaps it was a good thing. He didn't have to see that.'

'We're fine,' he said, again, his breathing coming out rapidly. 'We're _fine_.'

Her eyes narrowed. 'You said it would be safe.'

He let go of her arm. It suddenly felt cold and exposed.

'I miscalculated,' he said, shortly.

'Oh, Draco.'

He sat back on his haunches, and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it up on end.

'We're safe now,' he said, again.

Hermione's arms tightened around Adam. He felt small, and very fragile in her arms.

But at least he still was in her arms.

'Draco,' she said, 'Take us home.'

* * *

The beginnings of Autumn had come with unexpected force, and ravaged the countryside. The change wasn't so apparent in London, but the park that Sirius sat in was on the outskirts of the city. The grass he had walked on was cropped, sickly and brown. Tall, blackened trees, with fiery leaves stood up, and swerved hypnotically in the strong wind. The sky was flat and metallic. He reclined against a rusty bench, and watched the land fall and rise in waves before him. It dipped steeply to a path that led to small revolving gate.

He lit a cigarette and smoked languidly, holding up a finger every now and then to feel the wind. It had been years since the fresh handsomeness of his face had faded away. What was left was a dark, brooding, shell of a visage. Dark lines were etched under tired black eyes, and his mouth was thin and bitten. He hadn't shaved in days, and coarse stubble shrouded his jaw. Despite this, his hair still looked young and bright, and his hands, which he raised every now and then to bring a cigarette to his lips, large and strong.

As he watched, he saw a small woman wrapped in a black coat push at the gate and step into the park. She had her arms folded tightly around her body, and walked stiffly and methodically. She was still a little too far, but Sirius caught a quick impression of a pale, thin face, and a rugged mass of hair that flew wildly in the wind. As she came closer, he saw her thin neck, knotted in a gray and white checked scarf, and the large, round sunglasses, planted primly on her nose. Yes, he decided. There was no mistaking that small, thin mouth, the quick, nervous hands. It was definitely her.

'Hermione!' he called.

She turned abruptly, and Sirius wished she would take the shades off so he could see her expression. She didn't seem overly surprised. In fact, the lower half of her face- which was all that was visible to him- did not register any expression whatsoever. She simply stared blankly at him for a few moments, and then raised her hand slowly, as though too tired to wave.

He waved back, cheerfully, and patted the bench beside him. 'Seat?' he asked.

Another pause.

She nodded, and then began walking towards him, taking off her sunglasses as she did so. Sirius blinked with surprise. Her face had thinned down dramatically since he last saw her, her eyes sunken and dead. Large circles surrounded them. She had never been very beautiful, but he remembered a certain attraction in the slim lines of her cheeks, and the aggressive point of her jaw. Now, all that was left, was something dead and cold. Not a face, he decided, a mask. Much like his own.

She walked up to him, and when she drew alongside, she offered him a quick half-smile. 'Hello,' she said.

'It's been a long time,' said Sirius, forcing a smile onto his face. 'Why don't you sit?'

She hesitated for a moment, and then gently took the seat beside him. He was about to offer her a cigarette when she took out one of her own and lit it.

'What are you doing in this part of town?' Sirius asked.

'I live here,' she said blankly. He cast her an enquiring look, and she added, 'Down that road, over there. There's a little row of cottages. The yellow one with the green roof is mine.'

Sirius nodded. He had walked down that road, and remembered what the house looked like. 'Does it have lots of peonies in the windows?' he asked. 'Red ones?'

She blew out some smoke, and nodded. 'Red ones,' she said, vaguely.

Sirius frowned. 'It's been a long time since I saw you.' He waited, but got no reply, so he added, 'Not since your graduation, I think?'

Hermione looked thoughtful. 'You're right.' she said. 'I haven't seen you in a while. Coming to it, neither have I seen any of you others.'

'The Weasley's would love to have you over for dinner some time.'

She laughed, bitterly. 'False hospitality?' she asked, with an ironic movement. Sirius sensed some of her old vitality coming back- the deadness of her eyes had been replaced by some sort of anger, or irritation for a moment, but then it was gone. 'I didn't think you'd be the type.'

'Well, I suppose I can't speak for them,' said Sirius honestly, 'But I would love to have you over.'

She went quiet then. 'Thank you, Sirius,' she said. She sighed. 'But we all have our obligations.'

He blinked. 'Obligations?'

'Yours are to Harry.'

'And yours?' he asked.

She was silent for a moment. 'I don't know,' she confessed.

Sirius felt a little frisson of satisfaction.

'Is there some reason,' he asked, 'That you never talk to your best friends anymore?'

Hermione laughed. It was still bitter, ironic. 'Rhetoric, I'm going to assume,' she said, a touch mockingly. 'Of course there's a reason.'

They lapsed into silence for a while, smoking peacefully. A strand of Hermione's hair caught the tip of her cigarette and frizzled and singed. She pinched it with two fingers to stop the sparks, and then said to Sirius, 'What do you do?'

'Work for the Ministry, mostly.' he said.

She blinked. 'Really?'

'Surprised?'

'Very.'

'I thought you would be.' He laughed, and then added, 'So you have a green thumb, do you?'

She stared at him, and he added, helpfully, 'The peonies.'

A look of understanding crossed her face. 'Oh,' she said, 'Oh- no, that's my husband.'

Sirius raised an eyebrow. 'I _heard _about that.' he said.

'I'm sure Harry and Ron spread the news.'

'So- you're last name's Malfoy now?'

'I suppose you could say so,' Hermione said, thoughtfully. She took a last drag, and then flung down her cigarette and stepped on it. 'We don't ever talk anymore, you know.'

'You and Malfoy, or you and Harry and Ron?'

She remained silent. Sirius wondered if she was debating the answer. Her face looked more upset now, a sense of sadness breaking through the mask. She lifted her hand and touched her cheek, the tip of her nose, as though trying to check that she was still there. Sirius lifted his hand, and set it on her shoulder. With a start, she looked up.

'Sometimes,' he said, and hesitated. Biting his lip, he ploughed on. 'Sometimes, people get lonely. It's okay to talk about it.'

She remained silent, and he added, 'To me, I mean. In your particular case.'

'I hardly know you,' Hermione said, blankly.

Sirius smiled. 'Then why don't you just invite me over for tea?'

* * *

The cottage was small, and ridiculously simple. Sirius watched as Hermione unlatched the front door and pushed it open. An orange striped cat rushed out and rubbed lovingly against her ankles. Picking it up, she nuzzled it with her cheek.

'Is that- is that the same one you had in school?' asked Sirius, looking around. Hermione shook her head.

'This is Pange,' she said, 'He's just a baby, really. Draco found him on the streets and brought him home.'

The cat mewed in acknowledgement, and Sirius felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. How he hated that noise.

'Come in,' said Hermione, putting Pange down. Sirius followed her in, through a small foyer, lit by a lamp in a chiffon-pleated shade, and into the living room. It was decorated in bright colors, with a yellow sofa set, blue cushions and a striped divan. A white china vase filled with red peonies sat on a dark wood coffee table. A pattern of multi-colored tiles edged the window. Pange jumped onto one of the sofas and curled up.

'Sit,' said Hermione, pointing. 'I'll bring the tea.'

Choosing the sofa furthest from Pange, Sirius settled down and crossed his legs. He eyed the room, trying to absorb each and every detail. North-facing, he noticed, with large french windows. Very thin, chiffony curtains, though. He got up and peered through them, to see that they overlooked a small patch of grass that was presumably the back garden. It was encircled with a brick wall.

There was a cabinet pushed up against the wall, made of dark wood, with cutwork doors. Sirius checked to see that Hermione was still busy. Hearing the clattering of cups in the kitchen, he bent down to examine it, and found it locked. On it, however, was a mosaic photo-frame with a picture of Hermione and Draco at their wedding. It had been a small affair, he had heard. Harry and Ron and the rest of the Order had refused their invitations. Draco was wearing a tux, Hermione a soft cotton dress with a sash and no veil. They were both smiling happily (_optimistically_, thought Sirius, with contempt) into the camera. Hermione held a bouquet of red peonies in her hand.

He heard a chink, and turned to see her returning with a tray. She raised an eyebrow.

'Snooping?'

'Admiring,' he corrected. 'Red peonies seem to be your favorite flowers.' He gestured towards the picture.

Hermione shrugged. 'Not really. This cottage used to belong to Draco's aunt, before she died. She was a squib, I believe, and was generally ignored by the family. None of the others wanted anything to do with it, so we moved in here before we got married. I had forgotten to buy a bouquet so Draco made me one with these flowers.'

Sirius nodded, and accepted a blue china cup of steaming tea.

'Milk and sugar?' said Hermione.

'No thank you,' said Sirius. He glanced around the room once more. 'It's a lovely place,' he said, 'You two must be happy here.'

She made a non-committal gesture.

Sirius took a sip of tea, and asked casually, 'What does Draco do?'

Hermione's hand jerked, and she slopped some of the tea. Cursing she took a hanky from her pocket and dabbed at her jacket.

'He's- he's a freelancer,' she said, frowning at the spreading stain.

Sirius perked up. 'Really? In what?'

'Advertising,' Hermione said, blandly. 'He's at work right now.'

Sirius frowned. 'I thought you said he was a freelancer?'

'Commissions,' said Hermione, after a pause. 'He's been commissioned to do some projects. Have some more-?'

She gestured towards the teapot, but Sirius shook his head.

'No thank you.' He sipped lightly, and added, 'It's very good.'

They lapsed into silence once more. Sirius finished his tea, perhaps a little too fast, because he scalded his throat, and then set it down roughly on the table.

'Are you going?' asked Hermione, eyeing him above the rim of her teacup.

Sirius considered her for a moment. She looked small; very frail- as though she couldn't take care of herself.

'I'm coming back tomorrow.' he told her.

* * *

The weather, mused Sirius, was transient.

It had been a peaceful day, and when he arrived at Hermione's doorstep, he found a mellow streak of sunshine dabbing at her porch, and the peonies bending very slightly in the gentlest of breezes.

She opened the door with a non-committal expression; she was dressed in a white frock, today, with open toed sandals. The airiness of the dress brought some freshness into her pose, but mostly she looked tired, very weary. She eyed him speculatively, gnawing at her lower lip.

'Didn't think I'd come?' Sirius asked, lightly.

She frowned. 'I wasn't the best of company, yesterday.'

'I promised you.'

She laughed bitterly, and Sirius blinked. 'People aren't really known for keeping their promises,' she said, but stepped back to let him in.

'I brought wine,' he said, lifting the bottle of something red and hideously expensive he had picked up on the way. Seeing her raise an eyebrow, he added, 'I know it's early in the day but I think it'll do us some good.'

'How?' she asked, as they walked into the living room. Pange was curled up on an armchair. He looked up suspiciously as Sirius seated himself.

'You look like you've needed a drink for the last three years. Do you have glasses?'

She hesitated, but then produced a pair of fine-stemmed crystal ones, and Sirius poured out two generous measures. He handed her one, and then held up his hand.

'To confidence.' he said.

Hermione blinked. 'You don't look like you need any.'

He chuckled ruefully. 'That wasn't what I was talking about. I'm sorry- I should have been more particular. To _confidences_.'

Hermione frowned. 'I'm assuming you want me to confide in you?'

'They don't call you smart for nothing.'

A saddened expression flickered across her face. 'That was a long time ago,' she said, quietly, and then lifted her hand. 'Alright- to confidences.'

She drained the glass quickly, and set it down. Sirius, who was drinking at a more measured pace, started up the conversation again.

'What's bothering you?' he asked.

She blinked. 'I'm sorry?'

'I asked what's bothering you.'

'Nothing,' she said, a little blankly.

Sirius sighed. 'Didn't we just toast to confidences?' he asked, a little hurt. 'I'd think you'd want to get it off your chest.'

'I'd think I didn't.' Hermione said, a little firmly. She tapped her foot impatiently against the leg of the table. Finally, she blurted out, 'Why do you keep coming?'

He had finished his drink, so he put it down and then looked at her.

'Don't you know?' he asked, lightly.

'I really don't.'

Her hand was lying, frailly, on the edge of the table. Sirius leaned over and gathered it into his own. She winced.

'I care for you, stupid.' he said, gently.

Hermione shrank back.

'Don't,' she said, quietly, 'There's nothing worth caring for.'

* * *

They never really realized when the visits became routine. All Sirius was aware of was saying, 'I'm coming again tomorrow, you know,' whenever he left her, and her blank nod. He suspected that she was somewhat grateful for his company, though she never admitted it. Most of the time, she warned him to stay away. She shrank back from all his advances, crept away from his affection, and refused to let him within three feet of her.

And she never mentioned Draco Malfoy.

Sirius knew that her husband returned around seven in the evening, because she always got anxious at that time and asked him to leave. He was pretty sure, though, that Malfoy left a few hours later, perhaps around ten, because Hermione spent quite a few nights alone. He wondered, sometimes, why she never introduced him to her husband. For a while he toyed with the idea that she was in love with him- or at least was in danger of doing so- but if he were to be honest, he felt it was more because he was a link to the life that she had left behind when she married him: a life he wanted to destroy, but she didn't want to give up; a life, in fact, that she began to pursue more aggressively the more her husband ignored at.

And ignore her he did. After a month or so of mild, afternoon visits, Sirius took to driving past her cottage at night. He never paid her a visit, or let on that he was there. He was beginning to understand her now, and knew that closeness frightened her: she drew comfort from her distance from society. Instead, he circled the block, slowing down alongside her cottage and watching the light in the window. She wasn't fond of the bedroom, he realized, that was upstairs. Instead, she sat curled up on the couch with Pange, late into the night, with a book and a bottle of wine. Often, she drowsed off in that position, her neck tilting and her brow balancing against the line of the book. One night, Sirius simply parked his car outside the cottage and watched her. She drowsed off at about twelve, on the couch, and then woke up again at three. She made her way to the kitchen, and Sirius saw her gorging on freshly scrambled eggs and toast through the window. She pulled a holey Afghan out of a drawer and wrapped herself in it, going back to sleep on the couch.

Something, he mused, was very, very wrong with Hermione Granger.

And not once did he see Draco Malfoy.

He brought up the subject one afternoon, two months after they met, when Hermione was serving him his tea.

'I've never met your husband.' he said.

Her hand shook: the cup clattered against the saucer, and a little tea spilt. Sirius wiped it away with a quick spell, and then continued, 'Are you afraid of him? I've never really seen him around, and you speak as though you don't care for him.'

She sat down on the sofa opposite him, and said, in a brittle voice, 'Those aren't polite questions your asking me.'

'I thought we had passed politeness.'

'No one ever does.' she said, shaking her head. 'I don't know what you're taking about. The only reason you've not met Draco is because he's busy.'

'Oh, yes, with his _commission_,' said Sirius, a trifle snidely. He sighed. 'There aren't even any pictures or anything of him except the one at your wedding.'

Very briefly, her eyes flickered to her wedding picture. Then, they dropped down to the cabinet on which it rested and lingered there for a moment. Sirius didn't miss it.

'Are you unhappy?'

'I'm fine, Sirius.'

'You don't look fine.'

'Well, I am.' Her eyes had widened slightly, looked a little wet. He suspected she was on the verge of tears. Apparently she had had the same premonition and loathed the idea of crying in front of him, because she gathered herself up, and said, 'Excuse me,' a little stiffly, and then raced to the bathroom.

The minute she was gone, Sirius sank to his knees beside the cabinet and prodded it with his wand.

'Alohomora,' he said.

And that was all it took. The lock snicked with a satisfying noise and then dropped away. Sirius felt the handles loosen, and pulled experimentally at one of them. Immediately, the door inside gave way and swung open. Sirius peered inside.

It was, he realized, a collection of photos. They were all still in their frames, but were piled haphazardly together, gathering dust. They had obviously been there for a long time. He pulled the first one towards him, and ran his fingers over the dusty surface.

It was a picture of Malfoy, he saw, standing in the sun. His head looked like it was on flames, his eyes were relaxed into an easy smile. His arm was linked around a little boy, perhaps four or five, who was dressed in red dungarees, and had the same head of flame-colored hair.

The second picture was just the boy; he smiled confidently into the camera, missing a front tooth. He had brown eyes, realized Sirius. They were warm, and did not go with the coldness of his hair.

The third picture was one of the boy with Hermione. He had his arms curled around her neck, and had nestled his head under her chin. She had a soft expression on her face: one Sirius had never seen before, and her arms were splayed protectively around the boy's back.

'What do you think you're doing?'

She stood at the entrance of the room, her face freshly splashed with water but twisted into a furious expression. Her eyes were wide, livid and her nostrils were flared. Her mouth was pressed very tightly together, lips paling with th effort. She was breathing deeply, but Sirius could see her trying to calm herself.

'What-are-you-doing?' she asked again, this time in a deathly whisper.

Sirius glanced down at the picture in his hands. He blinked.

'I was- I was just looking-'

'_Stupefy!'_

He saw the jet of red light a split moment before it soared into him and threw himself to the left. It whirred past his shoulder and smashed into the cabinet, which shook but held its ground. Sirius landed painfully on the tiling. His shoulder was crushed against the floor, and he heard a soft snap: a muscle, or tendon pulling, he guessed. Bracing himself with his palms, he was about to get up when he heard her again.

'Damn you! How fucking dare- I'll _kill _you! _Stupefy! Stupefy!_'

Twin jets of light soared from her wand and scattered about the room. Sirius dodged the first, and watched the second soak into the wall. Hermione had worked herself up into a hysteria now, rivulets of tears streaming down her face, her body stiff and rigid. She was sobbing furiously.

'Wh-why did you come here? I hate you- do you hear me? _Hate you!_ I want you to- to- Oh, god, _Stupefy! Crucio!'_

Sirius felt a flash of alarm at the last spell. He skittered around the armchair, keeping to the floor, and edged along the wall. Hermione was too incoherent to be very dangerous, but he wasn't taking the chance, and sliding across the room he got behind her and wrapped his arms above her torso. She screamed and tried to jab him with her wand, but he twisted it away from her and tossed it onto the couch. His arms flexed around her narrow shoulders, fingers curling against the soft skin and caressing them. He leaned forward, and planted a soft kiss on her neck.

'Don't hurt me.' he whispered.

She went limp immediately in his arms. All the strength flowed from her body, and it sagged dangerously against his chest. She leaned her head back into him, arching her neck, and Sirius saw that she just didn't have the strength to stand anymore. He guided her gently to the couch and then drew her onto his lap, encircling her shoulders protectively.

'Cry, if you want to,' he murmured. 'I have time.'

And so she did. She curled her fingers into the material of his shirt, gripping his collar almost painfully, and sobbed fitfully into his chest. Sirius had never seen such hysteria. She was stretched helplessly across him, and he had never seen such a frightening thing as this emotion: not even the blank dullness which had etched across her face all those days ago in the park. That time, she had seemed resigned to life. Now, it seemed more like she was resigning herself to death.

'No,' he muttered, furiously. His hands came up her to face, persistantly wiping away her tears with the pad of his thumb. He pushed her hair away from her brow, and kissed it gently, trailing his mouth to the salty track down her cheeks, and the tip of her nose. He nuzzled her chin, murmured soft words into her ear, and felt some of the hysteria- but not the sadness- ebb away. Her sobs became quieter, but she did not relax her grip on the front of his shirt. She sniffed.

'Better?' whispered Sirius.

She shook her head.

'Should I get you something?'

She shook her head again. 'It will never be better.' she mumbled. Her voice was thick and hoarse from all the crying.

Sirius pulled her closer, stroked her back and whispered, 'I'm here. Don't worry. I'll take care of you now.'

Her body sighed, and he almost felt the flush of relief in her veins. She glanced up at him with red eyes and a swollen, ugly face, and said, 'Why did you open it?'

'I was curious.'

'You shouldn't have.'

'I'm glad I did, because I knew something was bothering you, and now I know what it is.'

'It isn't your burden to bear.'

'No, but I'm going to help you carry it.' He kissed her earlobe, and said, 'I love you very much, and I hate seeing you do this to yourself. Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong.'

She bit her lip.

'He'll kill me.'

A dark look crossed Sirius's face.

'Nothing of the sort.' he growled.

Hermione sighed again, and nestled closer to him. Her eyes blinked a few times, discarding the remenants of her tears.

'Are you sleepy?' asked Sirius.

'I'd love to sleep.'

'Go ahead, then. I'll stay here.'

She looked like she was about to protest and then shut her mouth. Sirius looked curious.

'You don't mind if I stay, do you?'

'I want you to.'

'But Mal-'

'He won't be coming home, tonight,' said Hermione quickly, before he could say the name.

Sirius simply nodded.

* * *

It was almost dark by the time she woke up.

Sirius had wanted to switch on the light, perhaps light a candle, so that she would not wake in the darkness. But she was curled fitfully around him, and he couldn't get up without waking her. So he leaned her back into the couch and the feeling slowly ebbed from his legs and they were ravaged with pins and needles. He barely noticed, though. His eyes flittered from the sleeping woman in his lap, to the open living window, to the clock on the mantelpiece.

She woke at half past ten.

The moon had risen, and cast the faintest of silver-light into the room. The pale chiffon curtains glowed peacefully, and the glossy floor-tiling seemed soft and smooth. Sirius felt her stir and glanced down. She blinked twice, and then looked confusedly up at him.

'I'm still here.' he said, raspily. His voice was hoarse from all those hours of silence.

'You are,' she murmured, in a tone that indicated wonder. She lifted a small, pale hand and brought her fingers to his cheek, touching them lightly and experimentally. The tips ran over his stubble, to the corner of his mouth, and she tugged at the edge of his lip. He smiled then, and she brought her index finger to the dimple on his chin, stroking it lightly. 'I thought you'd go.' she said, quietly.

'I did promise.' Sirius pointed out.

She hesitated for a moment, and then sat up slowly, testing the responsiveness of her limbs. Sirius arced and stretched as the blood ran back to his calves and feet. He winced through the initial pain, massaging it with the lengths of his fingers, and then finally asked Hermione, 'Should I get you something to eat?'

'I'm not hungry.'

'Well, I am. I'm going to find something or the other, and bring it here. Then we talk.'

She pursed her lips a little at that, but didn't object. Her eyes flickered back to the cabinet. All the pictures were stacked there, along with the one taken at her wedding. Her lips whitened for a moment, but she didn't say anything.

Interpreting her silence correctly as affirmation, Sirius investigated the kitchen and returned with a plate stacked high with fresh vegetables, a cream dip he had found in a plastic jar, and flat halves of pita bread, along with the bottle of wine he had brought that day. He poured them both some, and handed her a glass.

'Eat.' he said.

Nervously, Hermione picked up a stalk of celery, slathered it in dip and bit into it. A quiet crunch and a swallow later, she took a sip of wine. Sirius was watching her expectantly.

'Now we talk.' he said.

She didn't reply. Just nodded very slightly.

'Okay. Who was that boy?'

Her eyes wavered, but she answeres steadily.

'Adam.' she said. 'My son.'

* * *

'Draco isn't really a freelancer.' Hermione said, calmly.

It was half past midnight. A thick cloud layer had rolled in, and the broken sheen of moonshine in the room had been fragmented, broken into a million pieces that roiled uncomfortably about the walls and the ceiling with the wind. The curtains were caught in it too, whipping and darting about the open window, in a disconcerting manner. The keening of the wind was low, and it made the hairs at the back of Sirius's neck stand straight. He had offered to close the window, but Hermione had shaken her head.

'I like the wind,' she said, 'It makes me feel fresh.'

So he bore the cold quietly.

Now, she was telling him, 'And he isn't at any commission, either. It was all untrue.'

'I'm not surprised,' said Sirius grimly, 'You don't lie well, my darling. What does your husband do?'

'He's a drug lord,' said Hermione, flatly. Her hand came to her brow, pinched the bridge of her nose with weary annoyance, as though she was sick and tired of this part of her life. 'It was his father, before him. They had a chemical factory in China, it was part of the Corporation. And- well, I suppose when the communism began to fade away, and everything became a bit more easy to handle, Lucius took advantage of it. Opium is easy enough to get, there, and he made a flourishing trade of it. China, India, the South East- he became huge, you know. And then it wasn't just opium, either. He got orders for coke, heroin- it was crazy.' She shook her head, and added, 'Draco was on meth in school. I suppose it fits.'

Sirius frowned. 'Did you know about this when you married him?'

'I knew about his father, but at the time all he did at the company was help out a bit here and there. He helped his father make contacts, helped him verify whether orders were real or Ministry plain-clothes. I didn't approve of it, but I was young, and crazily in love. I suppose I was foolish enough to believe that he would change, over time. But if I were to be honest, I don't think I cared, really. All that mattered to me was the life Draco and I would share, and this wasn't part of it. I was stupid enough to believe he would be two different people, the one I loved and the one his father did.'

Sirius picked up the goblet of wine, and took a sip. 'And so you married him?'

'It was the end of everything old, for me,' said Hermione, a little sadly. 'Harry- Ron- my parents. But it was also something so beautifully new, a fresh life with Draco. I thought I was bold. Courageous, to stand up for the man I loved. Adam was conceived on our wedding night.'

'Your son,' said Sirius, softly, as though to himself.

'My son. I love him very much. More than anyone in the world.'

Sirius winced. 'What happened, then?'

'It didn't take me long to realize that Draco would always be his father's son. He began to help out more in the company, over-seeing inspections, bribing officials. When his father died, he wasn't devastated: he was excited. He took over the company that very day, and since then every speck of energy he's had has been going into it. It doesn't matter to him, whether the drugs kill people. I don't think he cares about the drugs at all. What he cares about is the _business_: not just the money, you understand, but the power, and cleverness that go with it. He'd be just as happy manufacturing towels.'

'A lot less dangerous, as well,' murmured Sirius.

'Yes, but not to me. I still think, you know, that he loves me in some little way, very deep down.'

'He's a sick bastard, Hermione. You have to leave him.'

Hermione shook her head.

'I can't.' she said.

* * *

'Draco killed Adam.' said Hermione, bitterly.

It was three in the morning. The cloud cover had burst, and the rain that fell did so in torrents, rough sheets of water that bit into the roof of the cottage, and sprayed furiously through the open window. The flimsy curtains were drenched, clinging saggily to the panes in a way that excited Sirius on a woman's body, and the floor beside the window was wet and slippery. Hermione didn't mind. She liked the rain, she said. She couldn't understand why people found it depressing. She found it fresh, exciting. It washed away so much, made her feel so new and shiny.

And beautiful, thought Sirius.

'Draco killed my son.' said Hermione, again.

'He wanted to take a trip to Singapore. It was vital, he said, for the company. He was going to make a new contact, over there- a man who's still at large.'

'What was his name?' asked Sirius.

'Law Vavasour. He's quite the it-man when it comes to coke. He owns an office in London, as well, and he comes here every now and then. I think it's in Beverly Towers.'

'Tell me more.'

'I told Draco not to go. I don't why I felt strange- I don't really believe in woman's intuition, but perhaps mothers feel things others don't. I told him it was dangerous. But he insisted on going. At the last minute, he changed his mind. It was going to be difficult, he said. There was a group of addicts, who he owed money, and they were going to be looking out for him. They knew he was travelling by ship, which he preferred because he said the security was laxer, and they were hanging around the loading dock at all times. Draco thought that if he took Adam and me to Singapore it would be better. We would be a smokescreen, he said. He would simply wear heavy travelling robes, the kind that have hoods, and the addicts would see a family of three boarding the ship and imagine it wasn't him. I didn't really want to, but he was persuasive. He said nothing would happen.'

Hermione closed her eyes, and Sirius felt her small body tremble. He wrapped his arm around her. His eyes flickered towards the stack of photographs on the cabinet.

'There was an attack,' she said, quietly. 'Draco wanted to board the ship after everyone else had, and he bribed a few officers around to make the arrangements to delay it by five minutes. When we got there, to the dock, we found out the ship had already left. Draco was furious. He was yelling and screaming and then- then they were all there. I think they had been hiding behind the diesel tins. The dock was desterted- the only people there were the two officers, and they were shot first. Then they turned on us.'

'I had to keep Adam away from it all. I tried to run, but I saw a bright flash of green, and then I was falling. I didn't die, though. It missed me. But I was hurt and I couldn't run. Adam was very quiet, I thought he'd passed out.'

She took a deep breath.

'Draco killed them,' she said, without emotion. 'He killed them all.'

Sirius frowned. 'What happened?'

'Happened? He helped me to my feet, we thanked the lucky stars the killing spell missed me. I was holding Adam tight. It was only then that I realized that- that-'

Her voice trailed off. She didn't cry, but a dead stoniness crept into her face.

Sirius prompted her. 'What did you realize?'

A moment of silence.

'The spell missed me,' she whispered, 'It got him instead. I felt it, Sirius. The _coldness_ of it. I felt it on my skin, and I didn't realize at that time what it had done- taken away the one thing that meant more to me than anything else. When I tried to pick him up, we saw: his face was cold, his eyes open and lifeless. It was the only time in my life I've fainted.'

'I've never forgiven Draco for that,' she said.

* * *

'I love you,' said Hermione, fervently.

Sirius held her tighter. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and it was almost five. Soon, he knew, the darkness would slip away. He didn't want the sun to rise again. Didn't want to have to face another day, lie another moment, wait another second. He wanted answers.

He wanted Hermione, now.

'Don't leave,' she whispered, 'He won't be back till eight or nine.'

His hands moved across her back, felt for her shoulder blades. His fingers pressed against them, felt them brace against the roughness of his pads. He groped until he found the straps of her frock and loosened them with ease and practice. She twisted and flung away the half-smoked cigarette they had been sharing, didn't stop to watch where it rolled. Her mouth had sought out his own, obstinately bending against his practiced lips, his stubble scraping painfully against her tender, tear-swollen jaw. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt as he slid the dress of her shoulders and lowered his mouth to her neck. He was not gentle: roughly biting and sucking his way to the slope of her arm, he left vicious marks of his presence, gnawing at all the coldness she had wrapped around her. She scraped his shirt off his shoulders, dug her nails into their hard flesh as he ran his thumb over her breast. Her neck arced, and he drug down his mouth, licking and laving her until she was sobbing once more in his arms, this time from need. She pressed her palms into the muscles between his shoulder blades, and bit his neck.

'Please,' she said.

The dress was on the floor, then, in an untidy heap beside his jeans. His hands had found their way between her legs, moving gently over her plain cotton panties. They were wet, he saw, and felt his own arousal respond. She was gasping frantically now, her own hands tightening around his knuckles, trying to get him to pick up his pace. He drew back and she moaned with frustration.

'Patience, my love,' he said, softly.

The condom was in his pocket. His snapped it with practice ease, drug it on. He didn't bother to get her fully naked; he simply pushed the strip of her panties aside, and heaved onto her. Hermione moaned- he couldn't tell whether it was pain or pleasure that caused her to- but she urged him on, digging into his back, nipping at his earlobe. He pushed her neck back roughly, lowered his mouth to the tender skin once again, experimentally tasting the fine, soft hairs just below her ears, the quivering swell of her faint Adam's Apple. The couch moved furiously under them, and suddenly it was too much.

They lay together afterwards, and Hermione curled up in his arms with an ease that most lowers gained only after several times together.

Sirius held her tight.

'I love you.' he said.

* * *

'We can't stay here much longer.' said Draco.

Hermione looked up. She was in the process of pouring milk into her cornflakes at the breakfast table. Draco was always hungry when he came back from his trips, and she ate a late breakfast with him. He was slicing strawberries against his thumb now, watching her with a casual indifference.

'We're leaving?' she asked. The sun poured hot and heavy after the storm, into the dining room and on the back of her neck. She felt sweaty; she felt sore, and her bones ached. She felt wonderful.

He nodded. 'It's getting dangerous. Law Vavasour was arrested this morning. Grant thinks there are Ministry officials after me. He says they've made a file of my presence, and if so it's only a matter of time until they get me. We have to leave England.'

'Lea-leave England?'

'We can go to Delhi,' said Draco, with a faint smile. 'You've always wanted to go to Delhi, haven't you? We can stay in a hotel the entire time, and eat those sickly sweets together. We'll go see the Taj Mahal. How do you like that?'

'I- I don't know.' said Hermione, a little bewildered. Leave England?

Leave Sirius?

She felt a little dizzy. She gripped the edge of the table and stood up.

'I need to take a shower,' she said.

Draco nodded. 'Alright. I'm headed out. I'm going to see Grant.'

Out of pure habit, Hermione said, 'Come back safe.'

She knew what Grant Hannigan was capable of.

She left the table, and started climbing the stairs, slowly and contemplatively. She heard the front door slam as she made it to her bedroom, and immediately picked up the dialing before she knew it.

'Hello?' he sounded pleased. He had CallerID, and it had only been a few hours since he left the cottage. He missed her, he said. He loved her very much, wanted to be with her forever.

'Draco wants to leave.' said Hermione.

Silence. It was thick and cold, now, and Hermione hastened to explain.

'He says it's getting dangerous,' she said, 'You remember Law Vavasour, who I told you about? He was arrested this morning. The net is closing in, Sirius, and he thinks he's going to be next. He wants to go to Delhi.'

'Do you want to go with him?'

'I want to be with you.'

She sensed his relief.

'Leave him,' said Sirius.

Hermione shook her head, although he couldn't see him. 'I can't,' she whispered.

'You can, and you will. Leave him, Hermione. Come to me.'

'He'll kill us,' she said, hoarsely. 'He'll kill us both. You know he can, Sirius.'

Silence, again. She sensed him thinking, furiously. And then, finally, he said, 'There's only one thing you can do then, you understand? You have to report him.'

Hermione's eyed widened. Her fingers, tightened around the reciever, trembled.

'Report him?'

'To the police. The Ministry.'

'Sirius-'

'It's the only thing left to do, Hermione.'

'I can't!'

'Do you want to live?' asked Sirius, roughly. 'And more importantly, do you want to live with me-?'

* * *

Grant Hannigan was a thick-set, burly man, with a squat head, gingery hair, and the scariest eyes Draco had ever seen.

He was seated on his favorite chair, a broad-backed one with long, spiny arms, and was smoking a cigar. He wasn't looking at Draco; his entire attention was directed to the spindly red-headed man in front of him, who was speaking in whining, pathetic tones. He was surrounded by four men who could have been a set of quadruplets: each well-muscled, and dressed in the blackest of robes.

Grant was like a father to Draco. He had been a step above Lucius when the latter ran the Corporation, and extended his business-sense and parental concern to his son. He headed the company in a way Draco knew he never would: with utmost and absolute authority. Not one man in the entire Corporation would dare to raise protest against something Grant said. Nobody who had done that had ever emerged alive.

'-could I do?' asked the redheaded man, with a shivering gesture. 'He put a gun to my head, he told me he'd kill me!-'

Draco's eyes moved about the room. It was small, an adjunct to the factory. Grant was a man who felt perpetually cold, a small fire ran in the gilded place, and everyone inside was sweating slightly. He shrugged out of his black coat, draped it across his arm, and turned his attention back to conversation.

'He put a gun to you head,' said Grant, in a low cold voice, 'And you gave him the entire load? It was worth three million galleons.'

'But what could I _do?_ He would have _killed_ me!'

'That,' roared Grant, 'Would have meant a whole lot less to me than losing three million galleons! Do you understand me?'

The man's wails rose to shrieks, and Draco instinctively tuned out. After all these years, cruelty was something he still couldn't stomach. It make sick, he thought, seeing men being tortured and killed over this.

All part of the business, Grant used to say, and remember the business, Draco? Most important thing in the world.

It was.

A sudden silence descended upon the room and Draco realized that the man had disappeared along with one of the bodyguards.

He winced.

'Draco!' said Grant, and held up his hands invitingly. Draco took a step forward and grasped them, like he was supposed to. 'My son- how are you?'

'Fine,' mumbled Draco, lowering his head. The eyes scared him. They always did. There was a strange bloodlust in them that bordered on madness. What made it the scariest was that they were a charming color- a sort of violet-pansy blue, with exquisitely long lashes.

'It's a good thing you came today,' said Grant, 'I want to hear all about your trip. I heard it was a success.'

Draco simply nodded. He remained silent.

'I _heard _about Vavasour,' said Grant, who had a curious expression on his face. 'It's strange- the Ministry is cracking down on us harder than ever. They seem to know our every step- when we're in London, when we leave it, _why_ we go. But we shall persevere, won't we, Draco? You and I, together, the way it was with your father. He will be proud of your dedication to the company. Yes- we will win this war, my son.'

'I'm taking Hermione,' said Draco, quietly, 'And leaving England.'

The silence that filled the room was deathly, and Draco felt the blood leave his face. He remained solid, though. Grant's face had crowded together with a rush of emotions at his words, and then gone curiously blank and smooth. His hand, which had been grasping Draco's, did not let go. He tilted his head back, and watched Draco through those fan-like eyelashes.

The silent crackle of the fire filled the room.

'You want to leave England with your wife?' repeated Grant, quietly.

Draco nodded. 'That's right.' he whispered.

'You won't be able to get out. The Ministry is watching.'

He had let go of Draco's hand now, leaned back in his chair. The bodyguards twitched

'I've taken care of that,' said Draco.

'You're leaving me.'

An unhappy desperation filled Draco.

'I have no choice!' he said, willing the older man to understand. 'I can't stay here! It's isn't good for Hermione, it's not safe. She's alone all the time. I want to take her away from me, away from the company.'

'You have a choice,' said Grant, 'You've already made it.'

He snapped his fingers, and two of the bodyguards moved forward.

Draco winced, and took a step back. He saw them- burly, strong men, moving towards him- and then turned his eyes to Grant. The bloodlust in his eyes had broiled to a fountain, and they were livid.

'I trusted you,' he said, calmly. His thick neck twisted grotesquely, and he flicked a speck off his jacket. 'Well, there's only one thing a man can do in a spot like this, Draco. Do you know what that is? Here's one last lesson- _cut the weeds._'

'Weeds?' Draco's voice was somewhat high-pitched. The body guards were closing in on him now. His fingers wrapped around the base of his wand, and he pulled it out of his pocket. 'That's what I am- a weed?'

'All traitors are weeds,' said Grant, contemptuously. He got up from his chair. 'I don't want to stay. I don't want to watch this. But first-'

He moved forward, and grabbed Draco's jacket. Draco winced, but he merely dug into the breast pocket, and pulled out two passports.

'Ah,' said Grant, with satisfaction. He flipped them open. 'David and Carla Brown. I _thought_ you'd try some stunt with fake passports to get your wife and you out of the country.'

He snatched them up, and made to fling them into the small fire.

'Don't,' said Draco, and his voice was pleading, even to his own eyes, 'Please. That's the only way I can help her.'

Grant snorted, and threw the passports into the fire.

And then he was gone.

The bodyguards were Squibs. They did not need wands. Draco was painfully familiar with how they coerced people into doing their bidding- and punished them.

The first blow that landed was to his stomach. He gasped, winded, and at the same time the other bodyguard snapped at his hand and grabbed his wand. The noise of wood splintering was thick in the air and Draco realized he was utterly defenseless.

No. He had his fists.

He tried to aim a punch, but fighting had never been his thing. One of the bodyguards grasped his wrist, forced his fist open and bent back his index finger until another sharp crack split the air. Draco screamed as the fire soared down his hand, and then another blow was dealt to his spine. He roared with pain and twisted over backwards, and as he did so his eyes fell on the ornately carved fireplace and the little fire.

The passports were at the edge. Grant had thrown them haphazardly, and they were not yet burnt. He didn't have much time, though- he could see the corner of one getting singed. The fire was picking up.

'No!' he roared.

A hand grabbed his jaw, forced his mouth opened, and then a punch was delivered to it so hard he felt his teeth crack. Blood spewed from the sensitive, swollen nerves in his gums and he tasted the salt and copper on his tongue. He gasped as one of them grabbed his hand, twisted it backwards and raised his fist to deal a hefty blow to the pressurized bone joint.

'No!'

He reacted with pure instinct, whirled around and aimed a fist with his uninjured hand. The punch caught the bodyguard in his solarplexis, and he reflexively let go of Draco, staggering backwards. A hefty kick, and Draco had him smashing into an ancient wooden cabinet. A large china vase on top fell down and crashed on his head, and he toppled to the floor, unconscious.

Only one more.

He turned around, but the second bodyguard was quicker. He wrapped his arms around Draco's middle and began to dig his fingers into the sensitive area between his ribs. Draco screamed as his fingers mashed in harder and harder.

There was a faint smell of paper burning.

'LET GO OF ME!'

He kicked viciously, and his leg found the fork betweek the bodyguards legs. There was a shriek of pain that was not his own and the bodyguard was on the floor, his hands cupped around his groin. Draco took two teetering steps back and fumbled on the floor: his fingers clasped one of the shards of the broken vase. Without stopping to think, he surged forward and plunged it into the bodyguard's neck.

Blood.

It spewed out as the ceramic blade shot into a sensitive vein, and Draco got a faceful of the hot liquid. He swore and took a step back. The bodyguard tumbled to the floor in the heap, but Draco wasn't even looking. He had launched himself to the fireplace, and was fumbling about for the passports.

'Yes,' he whispered, his fingers closing around the paper that was almost whole except a little corner. 'Yes- Yes- thank god, thank you god.'

And he stumbled to the floor and wept into his palms.

* * *

He called Hermione from a phonebooth outside the factory. His own phone had been smashed in the fight. The passports were protectively wrapped in newspaper in his breastpocket, and he held his hand clasped over it.

'Hello?' her voice sounded brittle, fragile.

'I tried your cellphone.' she said.

'It's broken. Where are you?'

'H-home.'

'I'm coming back there now. Pack some things. We need to leave immediately.'

Silence. He imagined her nodding at the other end of the line. 'Okay,' she said, finally.

'Hermione-'

There was only one thing left to say.

'I love you.' he said.

'Come back soon.'

* * *

The house was quiet. Draco apparated to the back garden, and gazed blearily into the silent night. The cold was refreshing on his swollen, aching limbs. The blood on his face and his hand had dried and crusted thickly, cracking around his mouth when he opened it. His finger hung uselessly beside the hand, painful with every step he took. He staggered to the front door, and pushed it open with his uninjured hand.

'I got the passports-' he began, and then stopped dead.

Hermione stood in the foyer room. She was wearing a dress he had bought her for their second anniversary, a deep blue tunic, that brought out the lifelessness of her skin. Her eyes were wide, frightened. Her hand was clasped protectively around her wand, that was pointed towards- _him,_ he realized, with a jolt. She was pointing her wand at him.

Behind her stood three men with Ministry badges.

'No,' whispered Draco.

One of the men stepped forward.

'Draco Malfoy, you are under arrest for the manufacture and peddling of prohibited, narcotic substances. Other charges shall be listed upon further investigation. You have the right to remain silent-'

'No,' said Draco, a bit louder. His eyes had found Hermione. She looked stricken.

'I had to,' she whispered. Her face was deathly white, her fingers trembling. 'I had to. I can't take this anymore.'

'NO!' roared Draco. He whirled around- hands still protectively curled around the passports- and made to move. His back stopped him though- some bone gave way before he took a step, and he crumpled to the floor.

'Draco, I-'

'I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!'

He was roaring with pain and anger now. He had fallen awkwardly, something had snapped. The agony rushed over his body, and he curled up. He closed his eyes as the dizziness overtook him, and was vaguely conscious of hulking shadows- no, people, he reminded himself, people that Hermione called to take him away- closed in on him. He was picked up roughly.

The last thing he saw, as they hauled him out of the house, just before his eyes closed and did not open again until they sentenced him to hang by the neck until dead, was Hermione, breathing a sigh of relief.

* * *

He wasn't picking up his cellphone. She got the answering machine twice, and finally left a desperate message.

'It's over,' she said, in a feverish rush. 'They took him away, darling. He's gone. Come over- I want you, I need you right now.'

The machine cut her off.

She tried to sleep, told herself he would come the next morning, but after tossing and turning unhappily on the couch she gave up and made dinner. The pasta tasted stale on her mouth. After a couple of mouthfuls, she spat it out and then threw up in the bathroom.

_Sirius._

Still no call.

Finally, she opened the small cabinet in the dining room, and pulled out one of the bottles of wines he had left in the house. She drank quickly, feverishly, and felt the metallic tang of the liquid burn her throat and stomach. It was better, she thought dazedly, to be numb, to not think of the horror on Draco's face when he realized what she had done, not think of the pain he had been in, the blood all over him...

She wasn't sure when she drifted off, but she was woken the next morning by a sharp rap on the window. It splintered through her semi-drunken head like an ice chip. She moaned softly, and opened her eyes blearily against the bright light that poured in through the window, the curtains drawn apart as always.

A tawny owl pecked anxiously at the pane.

Getting up slowly and methodically, she put aside the bottle of wine she had finished the last night and staggered to the window. Her body felt stiff, unresponsive.

_Sirius._

The owl handed her a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet and vanished as soon as she tipped a Knut into the bag around its claw. It hooted impatiently as it did so, as if rebuking her for her lethargy. She sighed and shut the window, drawing the curtains as she did so, and trying to block the light from entering the house.

She checked her answering machine.

Still no Sirius.

She made herself coffee, and settled down on the couch again. The drink was hot and bitter, soothing her mouth and nerves at the same time. After the cup was half-drained, she transferred it to her left hand and opened the newspaper.

**Notorious Drug-Dealer Draco Malfoy Arrested **

**The notorious drug-dealer and suspected murderer Draco Malfoy was arrested at his cottage at London the previous evening.**

**Draco Malfoy has been on the Ministry tab-check for months, reports an inside source. However, without substantial evidence to implicate him, his detainment was indefinitely postponed. However, the Ministry took matters to hand last evening when an unknown caller, reported to be Malfoy's wife, Hermione, tipped the Ministry off as to his whereabouts, and signed a confession form that entailed that she understood all the charges against him. Draco Malfoy has been taken in for questioning.**

**This reporter spoke to well-known Ministry official, Sirius Black, for more details.**

**"It's true,' Mr. Black is quoted as saying, "We have been on the lookout for Draco Malfoy for a while now. I personally sent a team down for the arrest last evening. I have been working on this case for a long time, but the real break-through came when I persuaded Mrs. Malfoy to turn her husband in. I was aware that this was the only way in which Malfoy could be implicated within our judicial framework. There are chances, though, that we may press charges against Hermione Malfoy for aiding and abetting her husband in this crime. Her silence until my intervention speaks volumes."**

**Law Vavasour, 45, who was also believed to be part of the racket, was arrested yesterday by Mr. Black. He claimed that Mrs. Malfoy had pointed him towards the dealer as well.**

**When asked how he persuaded Mrs. Malfoy to turn in her husband, Mr. Black said he had no comment.**

**

* * *

**

Harry and Ron did not come.

They had hated her, they said vehemantly, since the time she pledged herself to the miscreance of an addict she had married. They hated her even more now for being cowardly enough to kill herself.

Molly Weasley arrived, and made a short speech, but it was impersonal and faintly disapproving.

Her husband was in Azkaban. He was still unconscious, and was due to be hanged the next day. He would open his eyes moments before they took him to the gallows, and shriek out her name, but nobody would tell him that she was dead. He would die believing she was happy with her new life, and find some solace in that.

Some people- the ones who knew Sirius well enough to understand his methods of "persuasion" might have been of a somewhat dubious nature wondered if he would attend Hermione Granger's funeral, but he didn't come either.

* * *

**Author's Note: Have to confess, this idea is not entirely my own. It's got a lot borrowed from a movie I once saw.**

**And yes, still no happy ending. **

**I won't say Happy Reading, but you know what I mean. =D**


End file.
